


Finding Normal

by Zara17



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Can I say I'm not exactly sure where this is going?, Dursley family being the Dursley family, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, LGBTQ Themes, no?, okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27926323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zara17/pseuds/Zara17
Summary: Harry Potter is not a normal boy. His neighbors, his relatives, even his teachers, will swear to it. Harry himself is aware of it. So, when he turns fifteen and gets a letter from a man named Sirius Black, claiming to be his godfather, Harry does exactly what any not-normal person would do.He goes to meet him. This is a Muggle-AU where, obviously, everyone is a muggle and Harry went to Stonewall and what would happen if he met Sirius at fifteen and then slowly started to make friends with other kids and people from the books.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One,

Harry Potter was not a normal boy. The Dursleys, his relatives, would all swear to anyone foolish enough to mention him that he was dangerous and wildly unsettled. His neighbors whispered behind hands about his too-long hair, mysteriously dead parents, and obvious delinquency. Even his teachers, at Stonewall, called him peculiar and unnaturally quiet. Had you asked Ms. Figg, an old lady who lived near him on Privet Drive in a small house on the corner with a disturbing and possibly illegal amount of cats, you might have gotten a different answer.

But Ms. Figg died a little before Harry’s fourteenth birthday and no one ever did.

Harry Potter himself knew he was not, exactly, what people considered “normal”. Whether it was his hair, or his hand-me-down clothes from his cousin, or his habit of managing to keep his mouth shut until he had something particularly stupid to say, he just couldn’t manage to appear normal enough to appease anyone. Not that it bothered him, particularly. It had when he was younger, but by the time he was fifteen, Harry Potter had had enough of “normal”. He’d had enough of the Dursleys, constantly pushing him to be less “strange” because they needed to be “perfectly normal, thankyouverymuch”, enough of his peers trying to bully him because he wasn’t like them, enough of his neighbors who eyed him whenever he left the house and whispered nervously as he passed by. 

All _normal_ had ever taught Harry was how to run and avoid bullies and that was enough for him to know he wanted no part of it. But it was on Harry’s fifteenth birthday when things started changing for him.

On Harry’s birthday, he woke up to a sharp rapping on his bedroom door.

“Get up!” His Aunt Petunia’s harsh, irritable voice broke through his haze of sleep.” Your uncle has to leave early today and you need to make him breakfast! Hurry up!”

Harry rolled onto his back, his thin blanket slipping off him and to the floor. He did not question why it had to be _him_ to make his uncle’s breakfast. One of the first rules he’d learned at Privet Drive was not to ask questions and besides, he already knew why. ‘Because you should be doing _something_ to earn your keep’, Aunt Petunia had told him once, scathingly, as if Harry didn’t do at least half the chores around the house every day.

He listened as his Aunt’s sharp, angry footsteps faded down the stairs and then he sat up and picked his glasses off his bedside table. His ‘bedside table’ was actually a stack of books he’d taken off the bookshelves because Dudley, his cousin, had broken the actual beside table one time when he’d come in accusing Harry of breaking his video game(Harry hadn’t, but Dudley had still decided to pound him and he’d accidentally crashed into the table).

Harry’s blurred gaze focused as he slipped on his glasses. Or, focused as well as they could with the glasses Aunt Petunia had picked out for him in a giveaway box after his old ones shattered when Dudley had ‘accidentally’ stepped on them. These worked even less than his old ones had with even thicker black frames and Harry got headaches reading, but right after ‘don’t ask questions’ in the Dursley rulebook, was ‘no complaining unless you’re Dudley, Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia’, so Harry kept his mouth shut. 

Harry briefly surveyed his room, which was fairly barren aside from a desk, a bookshelf, and a box of some of Dudley’s broken things until his eyes landed on the small stack of clothes he’d washed yesterday. Getting to his feet, he pulled off his too big second-hand shirt and selected a blue one with long sleeves and yanked it over his head, carefully pulling the sleeves all the way down before straightening his glasses and running a hand absently through his perpetually messy dark hair. 

Breakfast, he reminded himself before exiting his room and hurrying down the stairs.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, a small but tidy room, with white towels to compliment the floor, Aunt Petunia, who was already at the stove tending to a pan of bacon, whipped around.

"Took you long enough." She said waspishly, her lip curling as her eyes lingered on his hair but, thankfully, she seemed too busy to remark on it, or perhaps she was just saving it for Uncle Vernon because she stalked past him, to the fridge and yanked out the orange juice." Tend to the bacon. If you let it burn, Vernon isn't going to be pleased."

Harry did as he'd been told, blinking sleep from his eyes but keeping an ear out for his uncle. He remembered when Aunt Petunia had used to threaten to send him to his cupboard if he burned anything, but since he'd moved into Dudley's second bedroom when he was thirteen, she seemed to have discovered Uncle Vernon was just as much of a threat though honestly, Harry wasn't sure why she bothered anymore. He never burned the food these days.

The combined threat of solitary confinement and the probable cuff around the ears had taught him long ago. 

Aunt Petunia bustled behind him, filling up glasses and setting out plates while Harry dished the bacon onto a waiting plate and got eggs from the refrigerator, returning to deftly crack them into the still sizzling pan. It was then that he heard Uncle Vernon's signature heavy step on the stairs and he stiffened a moment, his gaze still fixed on the stove.

 _Don't burn the eggs,_ he reminded himself. 

"Blasted light blew out again." Vernon Dursley said loudly as he entered the kitchen, tone laden with disgust, yanking out his chair so hard it screeched against the floor before he dropped into it.

"In the bathroom?" Aunt Petunia tsked as she took the plate of bacon off the counter and Harry flipped the eggs, trying to ignore his shaking hands and his brain yelling at him to turn around so he could see his uncle.

 _Don't burn the eggs,_ he thought again, fiercely.

"Don't know what we even pair those ruddy repairmen for," Uncle Vernon muttered darkly as Harry clenched his fingers so tightly around a spatula his knuckles turned white." They spew rubbish about wires and whatnot, and then next month, it's blown out again. I should sue."

Part of Harry itched to say he was fairly sure the lightbulb had just blown out from age because he'd seen it flickering last night, but he flipped the eggs instead. After all, there was no point giving Uncle Vernon _extra_ reason to hate him. Carefully, he pushed the eggs onto the bacon plate Aunt Petunia had returned, flipped off the stove, and took the pan to the sink to wash it off.

As he scrubbed the pan, Dudley came thundering down the stairs and Harry tossed a glance over his shoulder as his cousin entered the room. Harry had always thought Dudley looked alarmingly like Uncle Vernon, with his small eyes, rounded body, and bulging neck. But after last year's disaster of a diet(Smeltings, Dudley's private school, had deemed Dudley an unfit weight, something Harry thought long overdue), Dudley had taken up boxing and had somehow not only transformed his blubber into muscle but slimmed down a bit. Harry thought the transformation almost made Dudley seem less troll-like.

"Morning, Dudders." Aunt Petunia cooed, attempting to kiss her son's cheek as he passed but Dudley dodged, something he'd been doing with increasing frequency lately, and Harry found vaguely amusing. Big D, as Dudley's neighborhood gang liked to call him, had finally grown out of his mum's kisses." What time's your match today?"

"Three," Dudley grunted as he began eating and Harry dried his hands on a kitchen towel, warily eyeing the table. Uncle Vernon had, more days than not this summer, told Harry off for trying to eat breakfast with them, but if he didn't eat _now,_ Aunt Petunia quite probably wouldn't let him eat until he'd finished all the chores around the house, the amount of which seemed to vary on her moods and how repelling she found Harry. But, before Harry could make up his mind, his uncle's gaze snapped to him.

"Boy!" He barked through a mouthful of egg and bacon." Go get the mail."

Harry's heart sank a little. No breakfast, then. 

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." He mumbled and left the room, into the foyer. He ignored his protesting stomach and went to pick up the mail, grimacing a little when he caught sight of a letter with Uncle Vernon's equally horrible sister, Aunt Marge's handwriting scrawled across the front and sent up a mental plea for her not to be considering a visit. He didn't know that he could _handle_ an Aunt Marge visit this summer. 

It was as Harry straightened up, clutching the letters, that he caught sight of it. His name-Harry-on the front of one of the letters.

He froze. Only once before had Harry seen a letter with his name on it. On his eleventh birthday, in green ink on a thick, creme-colored envelope. But Uncle Vernon had taken that letter before Harry'd barely even touched it and, after a hushed conversation with Aunt Petunia that neither Harry nor Dudley had been allowed to be a part of, burned it and forbidden anyone from mentioning it again. This envelope, however, was plain and white, with black ink and cramped yet oddly precise handwriting that read:

Harry J. Potter

#4 Privet Drive

Surrey

Harry stared, disbelievingly, at the envelope. Who would send him mail? He didn't have any friends, certainly no other family(Otherwise, he was quite certain he would _not_ be living with the Dursleys, who had never volunteered for anything unless it paid in their lives) and he'd never signed up for anything in his life. Perhaps it was from school? But why would they address it to him and not Aunt Petunia, like everything else they sent?

"Boy! What's taking so long with that mail?" Uncle Vernon bellowed from the other room and Harry jumped.

"Coming!" He called back and hastily folded the envelope in half and shoved it in his sleeve. Whoever it was from, one thing was for sure; Harry was going to read it this time. Holding the mail carefully in his other hand, he hurried back to the kitchen.

"Damn bills." Uncle Vernon said as he did most mornings, as he took the mail and flipped through it. Harry eyed the door and wondered if he could leave without being noticed." You'd think it costs enough just buying necessities without paying damn bills all the time. Why don't they have all these people in prisons and using drugs pay bills?"

Harry personally thought the Dursleys were exactly the type of people who should be paying bills but wisely just edged toward the door. 

Aunt Petunia hummed absently in agreement and Uncle Vernon ripped open Aunt Marge's letter." Ah. Marge says she's got another round of those dogs-Had to drown a couple but most look sellable." He snorted, tossing the letter down." Says she'll let us know when she's coming down. Hope she leaves the blasted creatures home this time-"

Harry was halfway out the door when Aunt Petunia caught sight of him. She gestured, clearly, to the dishes on the table, and Harry bit back a groan. His heart was pounding excitedly in his chest at the thought of opening his letter but if he didn't do the dishes, Aunt Petunia would tell Uncle Vernon and, well...

Harry didn't want to deal with Uncle Vernon.

He trudged back to the table, careful to keep his sleeve balanced so the letter stayed in, and grabbed as many plates as he could with one hand. As he put the plates in the sink and turned on the water, he quickly glanced around and then yanked the letter out of his sleeve and shoved it into his pocket. His heart stopped in his throat as Dudley got to his feet, but his cousin didn't even glance his way as he left the room, muttering about going to see Piers, a member of his gang.

Harry was in the clear. Now all he had to do was the dishes and then he could sneak off to read the letter.

Or, so he'd thought. Uncle Vernon left without so much as a glance in his direction, which was quite honestly preferable to the alternative, but as soon as he left, Aunt Petunia slapped a piece of paper on the counter.

 _"That,"_ She said stiffly." is your list of chores for today. Get them done before I get back and comb your hair before you go outside. You look disgraceful."

Harry dried his hands on the towel." Where're you going?" He asked blankly, reaching for the list.

Aunt Petunia's hand flashed out and before Harry had time to duck, collided with the side of his face, leaving his ears ringing." Don't ask questions." She snapped, giving him an irritated glare." It's none of your business."

Harry swallowed hard, biting back a retort." Yes, Aunt Petunia." He muttered through gritted teeth, stepping back out of her reach and grabbing the list, which looked appalling long.

He stared, unseeing, at it, as she sniffed and eyed him." Don't touch the fridge." She said after a moment." And stay out of Dudley's room."

Harry had to bite the inside of his jaw to keep from snapping that he wouldn't enter Dudley's room if she paid him, which wasn't necessarily true, but close enough. Whatever excuse Dudley gave for wanting to beat Harry up, Harry never even _went_ into Dudley's room, much less to steal his stuff.

Aunt Petunia was silent a moment as if considering and then nodded, with an air of finality." If you don't finish before I get back, you can forget about supper." She said crisply, turning away but adding over her shoulder," If you don't work, you don't eat."

This was, in a sense, true. But Harry had found out a long time ago that plenty of times even if he _did_ work, he didn't eat. Usually for trivial reasons. He'd missed a spot, the supper he'd cooked wasn't seasoned enough, his expression was disrespectful-He'd long since given up on promises from the Dursleys.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." He said to her retreating figure and then switched his gaze to the list. She hadn't told him when she was coming back and, knowing her if he needed to get it done before she got back, he needed to start now. 

\----________-----

Which was how, three hours later, Harry found himself trudging back into the house(Leaving his muddy shoes outside), feeling far filthier than he had in a while, his limbs aching with exhaustion. He'd managed to make himself a sandwich after Aunt Petunia had left(As long as he didn't take too much food, she rarely seemed to notice), so at least he wasn't absolutely starving, but he wanted a bath and wasn't sure if he was willing to risk it. If Aunt Petunia came home before he finished his shower, he'd likely get in trouble for it. Not to mention the last time it'd happened, Dudley had pounded on the door until Harry had gotten out and then punched him, provoking Harry into punching him back, and then Harry hadn't gotten any supper.

Harry hesitated a moment in the hallway, glancing at the wall clock. Aunt Petunia could be home at any time, but his skin was itching from all the cleaning and gardening he'd done and his shirt was sticking to his skin from sweat. Shoving his limp bangs from his eyes, Harry went to his room, grabbed some clothes, and headed for the bathroom.

He shut the door behind him, locking it with a quiet _snick._ The bathroom was just as disturbingly neat and tidy as the rest of the house, well lit(Given Harry had replaced the lightbulb) and Dursley-like. Just being in it made Harry uncomfortable, but he pushed that aside, opening the cabinet to grab a towel and setting his fresh clothes on the counter.

He turned on the shower and stripped, tossing his soiled clothes in a pile and setting his glasses on the counter with his clothes. He stepped into the water, grimacing as the cool spray hit his body(He wasn't going to risk using up the hot water with Aunt Petunia's return looming over him), and began to hurriedly scrub himself clean.

Once he felt decently washed and had run his hands through his hair a couple of times in replace of touching Aunt Petunia's comb, he got out and started drying himself off. It was as he'd finished drying himself off and was reaching for his clothes hat he caught sight of the letter sticking out of the pocket of his dirty jeans.

Harry froze. He'd forgotten the _letter._ Hastily, he yanked on his clean clothes, slid on his glasses, and folded his damp towel, setting it in the hamper. Then he grabbed his dirty clothes and left, hurrying down the hall to his bedroom.

He slammed his door behind him and leaned against it a moment, staring at his clothes, then he yanked his letter out of his jean pocket and tossed the clothes across the room. Slowly, hands trembling slightly, Harry unfolded the envelope and there it was;

Harry J. Potter, Privet Drive, Surrey, in that oddly precise handwriting, black ink glittering as it caught the light.

His breath escaped his mouth in a rush. He hadn't been mistaken, it _was_ addressed to him. _It could be nothing,_ he reminded himself, but his hands didn't stop trembling as he slit the envelope open.

Carefully, he pulled out the piece of paper inside and, heart hammering, began to read.

_Harry,_

_I know you don't know me(Or maybe your Aunt Petunia or uncle have mentioned me?), but my name is Sirius Black. I was one of your parents' best friends in school and before their death, I was named your godfather. Unfortunately, due to an extreme mix-up, I was put in jail for thirteen years for a crime I didn't commit, so I never got to get to know or help raise you._

_Two years ago, new evidence was found and I was released. It took me over a year to recover from being in prison and months to find you and days to work up the courage to send you a letter. For the last, I apologize._

_I do sincerely want to meet you though, Harry. If you let me, I would like to apologize to you personally for taking so long and, if you'd like, get to know you a little. My address is 1313 Grimmauld PL, so if you want to send a letter back or, better yet, visit me, there you go, I guess._

_Please, give me a chance,_

_Sirius Black_

Harry didn't know how long he stared at the letter after he finished it. Thankfully, the writing was easy to read, but Harry sat there, staring, even after he'd finished it, his mind racing over the contents. 

Sirius Black. A friend of his parents? Of course, the Dursleys never would've mentioned him, given all they'd ever told Harry about his parents was that they were good for nothing alcoholics who'd died in a car crash, but Harry wasn't exactly sure what to think. The man was claiming to be an ex-convict(Did it count as an ex-convict if you were wrongly accused?), which in itself wasn't extremely reassuring. What if it was a lie and just some crazy guy who kidnapped kids with dead parents by pretending to have previously been friends with the aforementioned dead parents? What if he was just someone crazy?

And, even if he wasn't lying, what if he had the wrong Harry J. Potter? What if he had the right one, and he told Harry his parents really _were_ good for nothing alcoholics? Did Harry really want to meet one of his parents' old friends? The way the Dursleys had made it sound, not only had Harry been a total accident, but his father had been a probable drug addict and his mom things Harry didn't even want to think about.

Downstairs, the front door slammed and Harry jumped. He could hear Aunt Petunia, chattering away to Dudley about something and Dudley answering in monosyllables before thundering up the stairs to his room. 

"Boy, come put away the groceries!" Aunt Petunia's voice came up the stairs, with none of the sugariness she'd been using for Dudley seconds before.

"Coming," Harry called back automatically, swallowing as he looked back at the letter in his hands. His fingers, nails torn from working in the garden, curled around the letter.

Worse than the fact Harry wasn't even sure he wanted to meet one of his parents' friends, worse than the fact this could all be a trick, Harry realized as he stared at the letter, was that even if his parents _had_ been good nothing, even if this was a lie, he wanted to know for sure. He wanted to meet someone who could tell him about his parents.

 _I was named your godfather,_ the letter said, letters looping and curving and Harry closed his eyes, momentarily allowing the words to sink in.

He wanted to meet Sirius Black.


	2. Intermission: Sirius

Intermission: 

Sirius Black was not a normal man. He himself would readily admit it. Even by Hogwarts standards, even omitting the whole "going to jail" part(Which, on the occasion that he felt light enough to joke about it, he would claim actually made him closer to normal), he'd never really been what was considered normal. In school, he'd been a Maurader, he'd been The Sirius Black, he'd been popular and friendly and yet somehow was only really friends with four people. He'd ran away at sixteen and lived with James Potter until he was eighteen. Gone to jail at twenty-one and now, here he was, thirty-six, applying for a job at his old school.  
No, Sirius Black was, decidedly, not "normal".  
He considered this, as he sat in a chair at Hogwarts, right across from the headmaster's desk in a very uncomfortable suit he never would have worn if he hadn't been forced into it, his recently cut hair standing up messily in a clear sign that he'd ran his hands through it, his fingers twitching restlessly in his lap.  
"So." He said.  
The headmaster, sitting behind the desk, raised a silvery eyebrow. Sirius thought, with an odd sense of discomfort, that the headmaster didn't look any older than he had when Sirius had been in school. He was even wearing bright blue trousers and a pink tunic as if to prove he hadn't become any less eccentric.  
"Why do you think yourself a fit man for this post, Sirius?" Dumbledore asked, tone light and curious, his long fingers laced thoughtfully together.  
"Um," Sirius said, reaching up to scratch his head. He stopped halfway and lowered his hand, grimacing. Scratching his head probably wasn't professional, he told himself. He needed to look professional. He needed to get this job. He took a deep breath; he and Remus had practiced a speech. A short, but suitably professional and polite speech that had been carefully crafted to ensure Sirius the job. If he could only remember it.  
After a long moment, in which he held his breath, mind racing, all too aware of Dumbledore's eyes on him, Sirius threw caution to the wind and decided to wing it." Well. I've always loved sports and, I mean, kids are little buggers, but they're fun. So."  
Aaand he'd bungled it. Sirius resisted, very nearly, the temptation to slam his skull into the table." I mean, that is-"  
"Do you believe yourself to be in an adequate mental state to teach?" The headmaster hadn't even blinked, though Sirius could swear he was smiling behind his long grey beard.  
Sirius nodded hastily." I've been working with my therapist for over a year." He said, clenching his hands in his lap." She said she'd even write me a recommendation if you need it."  
Dumbledore paused a moment, as though considering, and then shook his head." No, I merely wondered." He said, shifting a few papers on his desk, gaze darting across them." And you believe yourself...capable?"  
Sirius caught his breath." Yes." He said, short fingernails biting into his palms. This was a question he knew the answer to with absolutely no doubt." I do. Prof-Headmaster, this is what I want to do."  
Dumbledore raised his gaze from the papers a moment to look at him, expression unreadable, and Sirius held his breath. I need this, was caught in his throat. For a million different reasons but chief among them being the hope of Harry. Remus had helped him write a letter after he'd seen Sirius' failed attempts scattered all over the house and they'd sent it out a couple of days ago. They should be getting one back any day soon. At least, that was if Harry decided to reply. Sirius was trying, desperately, to keep his hopes low but it was Harry.  
James' son, which was extremely apparent given the wretchedly common name the boy had. That had been Lily's idea(She had once named a cat John and Sirius honesty hadn't even been shocked when they announced their son's name) and James, the insufferable besotted twat that he was, had gone right along with it. Sirius still remembered when he'd been told his godson was going to have a name reminiscent of a ponce from the 1920s and Lily, when James had gone to fetch her a cup of tea and left Sirius spluttering, had pulled him aside and told him, quite calmly, that if he made a fuss about her naming choice, she was going to tell James about the time he'd gotten drunk and said James had a better ass than her.  
It wasn't as if James would've disagreed but Sirius had silenced himself nonetheless.  
He hadn't actually been able to learn much about the boy, Harry. Remus had actually done most of the researching for him because Sirius wasn't sure how and Remus, odd bloke that he was, liked researching. What they had found out though was fairly interesting. Harry lived with his aunt, uncle, and cousin. Sirius had met Lily's sister(Rose? Hyacinth? It was some weird flower name.)once, at James and Lily's wedding and, while she reminded Sirius oddly of his cousin, Cissy, she hadn't seemed too bad, though she had looked like she'd swallowed a lemon when she'd seen his long hair and James had kicked her and her boyfriend out within an hour of the ceremony for some reason Sirius had never managed to wrangle out of him.  
He'd probably never know now.  
"Very well, then." Dumbledore broke Sirius out of his thoughts, speaking quietly but with an air of finality accompanied by a smile." I think you'd make an excellent teacher, Sirius. I'm quite relieved to have found a replacement, to be honest. Will you be ready to start in September?"  
"Yes!" Sirius beamed, his hands relaxing. He'd got the job. Wait till he told Moony-Who, after a brief congratulation, would probably offer to help him with his lesson plan or some such. As if Sirius was going to plan his lessons. Weren't the best teachers spontaneous and sporadic? "Yes! Thank you."  
Dumbledore nodded, reaching up absently to push his odd, half-moon spectacles into place." Lily and James would be proud, Sirius." He said, meeting Sirius' gaze, his own blue eyes intent." To see you now."  
"I-Thank you," Sirius repeated, a little stiffer this time. It was Dumbledore's way of offering his condolences, he supposed, and perhaps even half an apology for the trials, but Sirius had had enough "Sorry's" to last him a lifetime.   
Honestly, Lily would've laughed her head off at the idea of him teaching kids and James would've asked him if he'd gone mad. He probably had gone mad. If only his parents could see him now. They would probably die from shock. The thought was enough to make Sirius pause a moment, considering it, but dismissed the idea. After all, wasn't letting them live their full, miserable lives the real revenge? Or, that was what Remus theorized, anyway.  
"Very well, then. Tell Remus I said hello." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled briefly with amusement and it took Sirius a moment to realize he'd been dismissed.  
But he didn't stand." How-"He stared uncomprehendingly at his old headmaster and new boss." How did you know I'm living with Remus?"  
"Remus wore that very same suit when I interviewed him." Dumbledore said, lacing his fingers together and smiling." You look very much a Black, my boy."  
That comment sent Sirius to his feet, grimacing." I told him I looked like a prat." He muttered, voice a half growl and then remembered the headmaster and half grinned." I mean-er, thanks. For seeing me, I mean, then."  
"Naturally." Was all Dumbledore said in reply, eyes sparkling and, tugging off his tie, Sirius departed.  
_____________________________________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo, this is just a short from Sirius' perspective! It's not my favorite and I wasn't sure if I should post it but it seemed relevant to the story, so I did. I'm posting the actual second chapter(This is just an intermission, a little clip in between)soon, so. I hope you enjoy it? Happy New Year's and I always appreciate reviews. :)


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